


The Silence of the Night that Breaks Us

by Estivate



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Homophobia, M/M, Male Prostitution, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Porn w Feelings, Somnophilia, Terrible Host and Guest Manners, Uncle/Nephew Incest, filthy filth, uncle loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate
Summary: The next time he’s hanging out on the fire escape, Thor forgets to keep a fresh pack on him as his current one runs down to the last, and then it’s just him and his final cigarette burning down to the nub. The length of ash should’ve been flicked, but Thor is holding incredibly still. Eyeing the narrow strip of action beyond the parted door.The stranger is probably a business man, and judging from it he’s paid for all the dressings. Literally. Uncle Loki is wearing a dress. Between the deep red fabric and uncle Loki’s dark hair, his skin is pale, and the stranger’s hands are running down the straps to reveal those shoulders – too broad to be a woman’s when squared, but slender enough for a man that the illusion holds. He curves into the other’s embrace and tips his head back while the man kisses his neck.





	The Silence of the Night that Breaks Us

 

He takes a drag and breathes out into the hazy cool summer night air.

 

_It’s nothing like back home._

 

It’s not even what he imagined when Frigga sat down with him in the kitchen while Odin went on the front porch to enjoy a smoke with his trusty rocking chair, careful not to rock it at an arc deep enough for the creaking wood to be audible. _‘We’re so proud of you getting this internship darling. Your uncle’s willing to provide you a room. It’d help save on the expenses, with college just another year away.’_ her smile straining at the corners.

 

There’s nothing much of a skyline to boast of here. The buildings are a collection of unremarkable brick red - the most recent ones with some conversions, but not theirs. Theirs is the traditional, with a classic fire escape. He enjoys it for the people watching, pubs and clubs at street level. A retinue of attractive gay youths or older looking men.

 

It seems they’re in a neighbourhood that caters to a certain segment of the population.

 

He’s been here a week, evenings mostly to himself. He could grow out his beard, try his luck at the bar. Or get chummy with a bouncer to gain admission to the club, because it’s a Friday night after all.

 

Then he hears laughter from the other side of the entrance as two figures stumble through the living room, liplocked and drunk. Thor tries to sneak a quick peek at the stranger his uncle has invited this time. If they were old then they had to be loaded, and if they weren’t loaded then they had to be young and handsome. This one was older, much older, and short. He snorts, the ashen end of his cigarette crumbling its length on his sneakers.

 

He’s lucky that the door to the bedroom doesn’t stay properly shut when it’s closed in haste, and Thor can always make out a narrow strip of the action. The springs make a sound but pause as a number is negotiated. “—ndred to come in my mouth.”

 

The man grunts. “That’s fifty more than last time.”

 

“I’m in demand these days, my time is precious.” he purrs in response.

 

He doesn’t see clearly the grudging nod, but does spot the sliver of an ass cheek as the trousers come off. Then it’s the continuation of having a good time, and Thor’s not even annoyed anymore at having to take the couch in this arrangement.

 

He lights another fag and shuts down the first itch of a cough like the first time he tried one behind the school gym. Leans back against the rusty rail, it’s flaky metal scratching into his palms.

 

Not what he thought it’d be like at all.

 

\---

 

In the distance a car honks past followed by a streak of headlights. Someone yells and cusses at a street lamp. A group of attractive men skirt around him, laughing, and they saunter past alleyways with other men loitering in the shadows, watching, whistling. The choice between following your friends or breaking off from the pack. He finds he’s starting to be able to predict which individual will do so ahead of time with startling accuracy. They tended to carry themselves just a shade unsure or audacious. As if it were the first time or twentieth.

 

Music spills from the various gay bars. Lights in neon flicker flirtatious. The mingled scents of sweaty cologne, booze, pizza, drugs, and smoke all travel cleanly despite the humidity.

 

Thor watches and counts on the fact that his lungs are healthy enough to withstand what’s quickly becoming habit. _He’ll get it out of the way now. It’s only summer. One summer._ It took fifty summers before grandpa Bor died of lung cancer. He’ll be fine.

 

After all, he’s not smoking out of delinquency, but it feels more purposeful to do so while hanging out on the rickety fire escape. To uncle Loki he may as well be a potted plant, but occasionally his inebriated customers are still lucid enough to notice and ask.

 

_‘Is this supposed to be a threesome?’_

 

_‘It’s just the neighbor’s kid darling - locked out.’ and tilted his head for a kiss._

 

_The burly man grunts ‘This late huh. She a whore too?’ then looked him up and down. ‘Hey she’s probably not bad on the eyes herself.’_

 

_He could tell that Loki was getting impatient with the way this was going. He pouted, then guided his client to the room, closing it in a way that it’d stay shut._

 

Thor took the message to make himself scarce that first night.

 

Back home they didn’t think much about those who lived in the city, and even less of those who chose to move there for reasons that weren’t related to family. He recalls the way Grandma Bestla regarded such - “Oh I do hope you’ll find a high school sweetheart to be crowned prom royalty with - then you can settle down right away. It’s no good to be so far from home - makes deviants even out of the best folk.”

 

If Grandma Bestla were alive still, she’d have tried to sell Thor on other opportunities while trying not to cry before wringing her hands in her apron, shuffling off to the kitchen, on a personal mission to make the best casserole yet, if it could entice her grandsons to stay with her a little longer.

 

Thor missed her. He always wondered whether she blamed herself for the way their family fractured. His grandparents were hardly ever politically correct, but there was never anyone from outside of town who was hurt by it.

 

Uncle Loki hadn’t attended the funeral then either.

 

\---

  
Sunday morning and it’s grey instead of bright. Looking out from the window the street looks worse in the day. Thor groans and gets up from the couch. All things considered, it was actually a fairly comfortable couch. He takes his time getting to the shower, after all, uncle Loki won’t be up until noon. As he passes by the bedroom, he spies him asleep, sheets having been partially kicked off due to the heat. There’s money on the drawer for services rendered that he hadn’t put away.

 

He feels like a pervert more than ever standing there in his boxers and quickly gets into the shower.

 

\---

 

Sometimes, just for a change of routine, he’ll dine from a box of takeout on the fire escape instead of smoking. He’s observing the way a couple in the shadows catches his eye. The guy’s in college but he can’t be more than a few years older than Thor. He looks like he’d been a jock too, and his awkward stance emphasizes his nervous frame. He must be new to this.

 

Thor cracks a bottle of beer he snuck from the fridge. It goes well with the fried noodles he opted to eat with a fork.

 

“Mn mn. Not that one.” aloud to no one in particular, as if he had any influence over the man’s choice. He’s not even sure if the guy’s looking to take or be taken, but if it’s you’re first, you want a partner who’d be more attentive, surely. Though he can see the appeal of being used or using too.

 

If only his friends back home knew about all the action he was privy to, unless it wasn’t the right kind of dirty stories one would normally report back with. Coming from a guy and all. Not that they’d know. He’d just change the details up so that the receiving characters were girls.

 

Then in the distance the guy seems to have lost his nerve. He goes back into the club, straightening before going inside.

 

Thor sighs deep and gets up, disappointed. He discards the empty box in the trash and decides to look for more beer in the fridge. The only policy uncle Loki ever groused at him, hungover, was that he had to replace the ones he drank with his own money. He’s cool with that.

 

The idea of flicking on the tv and flipping through the channels, while an option for mindless distraction, doesn’t appeal to him. He goes snooping in uncle Loki’s bedroom instead.

 

He’s searched before but he wonders if this time he’ll come up with something new. A book with their family’s contact information. A photograph even. But finally he stuffs the last shiny, flimsy top back in its nook. The most spectacular item he’s found was a high heel with no matching other under the bed.

 

Nothing. There’s nothing to indicate relation, hobbies, or a family. Just unmentionables, a vocation, and a place. How did his mother ever manage to think of him here and what was she told?

 

And why did uncle Loki agree to host him?

 

Outside the sound of a bus passes by, something splashes against the sidewalk as it does so and a male yells “Fuck.” His friends laugh.

 

So many questions brought on by the life he’s been told his uncle chose for himself. After the fight within their family, Odin’s denouncement, Frigga’s confusion and distress, and grandma Bestla’s disappointed hopes - Thor, though too young to grasp at the time fully, what the drama was all about, always thought that uncle Loki, with his wit and charms, would’ve been able to make a break for it, find happiness, and come back a proven success.

 

It would’ve been the only outcome to have made it all worth it, but then it seems...

 

\---

 

Memory is a strange thing at five years old. He thinks he remembers instances with uncle Loki even before then, like the soft fabric of his sweater or the low shushing noises he made when Thor cried, but it wasn’t possible. Uncle Loki didn’t start babysitting him almost full time until the factory accident at dad’s work place.

 

A high speed disk blade had jammed and Odin was assigned to troubleshoot. One of the boys forgot to pull the plug because the safety mechanism was such that when one part didn’t respond, the whole contraption came to a stop, looking as if it’d been turned off. Once his father jiggered it back in place then, the machine kicked into gear again. By then the eye was collateral. There was damage to the front of the skull as well. Shards of bone that could’ve gone even deeper and irretrievable.

 

All children, no matter how young, remember their mothers crying. Frigga had been driven home from the hospital and nearly collapsed in a sobbing heap on the front doorstep, had uncle Loki not been there to support her inside.

 

Thor was chubby faced and snotty nosed, sick with a cold, and he thought for sure that he would never see his dad again.

 

It must’ve been a distressing scenario, needing to step in to help take care of your brother’s family, taking the place of two parental figures as Odin spent time recovering, multiple times on the verge of death, and Frigga tended to his side the better part of a year.

 

Thor was terrified of being left alone, so much so that he’d insist on crawling into bed with uncle Loki at night, where uncle Loki would have to hold him close and soothe him to sleep.

 

Even so, the less traumatic aspects of raising a child nephew were still prone to volatile outbursts, and Thor remembered that he could be a terrible brat. He had to be spanked a few times when he’d worn uncle Loki’s patience too thin. Sometimes flung the words ‘ _I want my real daddy!_ ’ and of course, inevitably, slipping up to call uncle Loki his actual daddy. Once or twice.

 

Uncle Loki didn’t drink back then, though he could have used it.

 

Thor loved him as any true parent.

 

\---

 

The next time he’s hanging out on the fire escape, Thor forgets to keep a fresh pack on him as his current one runs down to the last, and then it’s just him and his final cigarette burning down to the nub. The length of ash should’ve been flicked, but Thor is holding incredibly still. Eyeing the narrow strip of action beyond the parted door.

 

The stranger is probably a business man, and judging from it he’s paid for all the dressings. Literally. Uncle Loki is wearing a dress. Between the deep red fabric and uncle Loki’s dark hair, his skin is pale, and the stranger’s hands are running down the straps to reveal those shoulders – too broad to be a woman’s when squared, but slender enough for a man that the illusion holds. He curves into the other’s embrace and tips his head back while the man kisses his neck. He closes his eyes and those fake lashes are drawn long across the curve of his cheeks and Thor sees rather than hears the shuddering breath his uncle makes.

 

His expression cuts out of the frame as the man lays him back against the bed to move on top of him. The cigarette finally burns to the end between his fingers and Thor draws his hand back on instinct, swearing under his breath.

 

Lighting up another would’ve given him something to do with his hands but he’s out. He could run down the fire escape and buy another pack, but he’s transfixed where he is. Watching. Just watching. Like he has each night all summer. Strange men with strange tastes entering here and entering the bedroom – the hem of the dress rides up a pale thigh and then the man is pushing in after parting his uncle’s legs, entering.

 

 _Deviants._ He recalls grandma Bestla saying so casually.

 

Was it the nature of the city itself that drew in lost souls, or just its inhabitants, walking, stumbling, subsisting. Across the street, the alleyways and clubs fill with fools. Handsome, beautiful fools. Thor understands now that he shouldn’t be here, should never have come here.

 

The very same moment his breath catches, because he can hear the way uncle Loki’s voice moans as the other pumps in all the way. Thor wonders bitterly if it was in pleasure or pain. His pants start to feel tight.

 

He watches jealously, the way the man has _his_ uncle in hold, one arm hooking around his waist, the other playing over his ribcage to then trace his hipbone. _‘As if he has the right.’_ Thor thinks. He doesn’t know why he’s reacting this way. None of the others were like this when he watched, but this man treats his uncle’s body as if…

 

Thor can’t help himself anymore, he fumbles his fly down and takes himself in hand, starts masturbating to the sight.

 

He envisions that it’s him caging Loki in, his body above him, broad shouldered and voice-deep, murmuring his uncle’s name as he brings his arms up around his neck, holding tight, kissing him while whispering back how much he’s missed him. How much Thor’s grown.

 

Thor looks jealously through the door ajar, the way a pale leg is hitched up around the man’s hip. How their rhythm has sped up, and with it, Thor’s own hand.

 

He feels his own heart constrict painfully, and his grip as well.

 

Thor judders his release. Palm sticky. Throat parched from the smoke and heat.

 

He shouldn’t be out here.

 

\---

 

Thor remembered at thirteen, the afternoon at the family dinner, thinking it strange that uncle Loki had shown up wearing a light turtleneck. It was the middle of June, and Thor was trying to get his homework out of the way at the kitchen countertop, but his uncle’s mere presence after arriving was distracting him.

 

Even though hadn’t done anything to be so at all other than saying hi at his nephew in passing.

 

Only that Thor swore he saw something like a red mark when uncle Loki hooked a finger underneath to try and cool down. He’s old enough to know what that means, and his eyes can’t seem to process anything on the textbook page anymore even though it’s the third time he’s read that line.

 

He’s too annoyed, suddenly, to ask for help.

 

Uncle Loki busied himself getting the cutlery prepared, setting the table so they could eat outside while Frigga was making finger food, his dad outside on the bbq.

 

His uncle had set his phone down, and Thor catches the name of someone when the display lights up. It sounds weird to him when he tries to pronounce it in his head.

 

Frigga calls for them from the porch. Uncle Loki comes over to retrieve his phone, a small smile gracing the corner of his lips when he sees the notification. Then he’s shooing Thor away from his books, and fetching napkins, forks, and condiments.

 

 _‘Who’s Svad?’_ is the question on the tip of his tongue.

 

\---

 

The men always just left afterwards. Money on the table by the bed and that was it. He wondered if his uncle preferred it that way. He came in to turn off the lamp. Electricity bill and all that. He did so every night – in consideration of the parental figure who once took care of him.

 

The floorboards don’t disguise the sound of Thor’s gait, but Loki’s asleep and spent. Thor’s never noticed his uncle stirring whenever he’s come in or walked by. Sometimes he’ll sit down on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over his face deciding whether or not to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

 

Cheap perfume, ruined makeup, and the red dress tugged down to his waist, and yet his uncle looks beautiful even like this. “What ever happened to Svad?”

 

Of course there’s no answer. Thor just watches Loki’s chest rise and fall in soft breathing. His lashes swept low on those sharp cheekbones, the rough tangle of black hair that always made him as the odd one out of the family, and the shape of his mouth, eased and swollen.

 

He can’t recall, ever, in his horny adolescent life, wanting so badly to touch another.

 

So then he does, taking his hand, and hesitating, waiting for a response, in case his uncles wakes – but he doesn’t, and Thor smells the faint scent of alcohol that wasn’t overpowered by the cloying smell of sweat and sex. He continues then, to take his hand and gently brush it against his cheek. 

 

 _You used to hug me against you with these hands_. He thinks. He flexes the fingers, bends and straightens them one at a time, noting their elegance. He kisses the back.

 

Gaze travels along the slender limb, to pause at the jut of collarbone, rest on the artful jawline. There’s slight bruising there, and it makes him angry.

 

Something thin and cruel splits inside Thor’s gut. Being ignored for most of the time he’s been here? He could swallow that. Taking barely any care of himself other than only doing enough to invite strangers into his bed night after night? He could grit his teeth and bear it. But to keep living like this? To have _been_ living like this in the years Thor hasn’t seen him?

 

That wasn’t fair.

 

Loki’s voice laughs amusedly in his head, seeing right through the petulance. _For me or for you?_

 

Thor saw the way his uncle’s touches responded to the customer tonight. The hands that dug into the arching hips, driving him further and further against the headboard on each thrust.

 

He nervously reaches out. Sliding his fingers through hair like it’s a caress. A memory of him doing this as a child hits him, when he compared those long, dark midnight strands to his own blond ones.

 

He’s not a child anymore.

 

He’s breathing very hard.

 

He kisses his uncle on those slightly parted lips – moans into it greedily. Where his hand was, he slides it to the back of his head, tilting his face upwards to meet him.

 

Without his uncle responding, it’s a sloppy kiss, but Thor doesn’t care. No one has to know. He chases the line of spit that left the corner of that mouth to lick a wet line under Loki’s jaw, then transitions into nips and sucks along the neck, to finally fixate at the pulse point.

 

His hips rock against his stomach to that same rhythm, getting caught in the fabric of that dress. He’s sure a damp patch has leaked through the denim and onto the red cloth. Humping like an animal.

 

When he feels like he can’t take the friction anymore, he works his shirt off hastily. The buckle on his belt jingled as he unfastened it, wiggling to push his jeans down, feeling the slow unravelling of the throbbing heat in his groin, his erection freed. He pauses to contemplate the image before him, of his uncle, exhausted after a night of prostitution.

 

He traces his hands down his uncle’s sides, feeling the skin tacky there from exertion and – along the inner thighs – another man’s come. He manoeuvres those long legs up, letting the slack knees fall open, and his breath catches. A low growl in his throat.

 

The tension in his body becomes sharp, along with his inhale, as Thor’s fingers press against the loosened ring of muscle. The mattress dips with his forward weight.

 

With the previous man’s semen still inside him, it’s easy to push inside his uncle. “Knew you’d be wet and ready,” he mutters under his breath, “Knew you’d—want this.” he grunts. In all the way.

 

Thor knows his cock is a pretty impressive size, but that hole sucks him in greedily and he stifles a strangled cry. It feels so perfect.

 

Like this, inside him, he was a part of his uncle’s life again. His breathing becomes more labored – the ability to feel so close to him that it was breathtaking. He pumps harder and harder, burying himself against the body that was unable to keep him at a distance.

 

It feels like he’s the only one in love still.

 

Thor groans loud and impetuously the moment he comes. Then, he reaches down, collects some of the come that’s leaked out between them on his fingers, and dabbles it on his uncle’s lips.

 

“Beautiful.” He whispers. Hard still.

 

\---

 

They hadn’t had one of these summer family bbqs in a while. Last year around the same time, grandpa Bor passed away, and no one had the time or the heart.

 

Thor sat next to Baldr – still prone to a tantrum every now and then at meal times – but sitting next to his older brother often encouraged him to mimic whatever Thor was eating. Otherwise he would’ve much rather sat next to uncle Loki, who was nursing ice tea and nodding along to all the ways grandma was fretting over him.

 

“It won’t be that much longer now before I follow. Why don’t you come with me to the Baker’s next Thursday? Their daughter’s recently divorced but as sweet as apple pie, really. She doesn’t look too different from that girl you dated once, some years back.”

 

The corner of uncle Loki’s mouth quirked in a nervous twitch. Thor remembers with strange clarity the way his uncle had taken his hands off the edge of the table and folded them in his lap, smoothing down the napkin.

 

“I’m seeing someone mother.”

 

Thor stopped chewing his cob just then. Odin and Frigga’s attentions had turned towards Loki too. Odin with one eyebrow raised, Frigga with congratulations about to spill and clapped her hands excitedly. “Loki that’s wonderful! How did you meet her—”

 

“Him.”

 

And then the table turned quiet for a different reason.

 

\---

 

At some point he thinks he may have seen those eyelids stir, but it doesn’t stop him and they don’t open fully – as if the weight of those lashes were too heavy to raise them. He keeps pumping.

 

He’s flipped his uncle over on his front, keeping his limp body in place by that narrow waist, hips snapping desperately.

 

He imagines what it was like those first few months when uncle Loki moved here – however long it must have been after they’d broken up. Whether a man had whistled from his spot in the alleyway and then pushed him against the brick walls to take him. When his uncle had started on the streets, the quick learner he must’ve been. Taking guys one after another through the sweltering hot evenings, sucking them off after drinks at the club, in bathrooms. The first time he wore heels and a dress, if he carried himself with that same sorrow – the one he no longer cared to hide, and if his clients treated him like someone to be degraded for it.

 

One man or a group of them.

 

On his knees or on his back.

 

Sober or drunk, high or drugged.

 

All his harbored fantasies mentally play in fast forward. He fucks his uncle’s slumbering body. Thrusts matched breathing, breathing matched grunts.

 

Bites his lips before he comes again. Letting out a cry as he spills, hot white and thick, over those pale cheeks. Hips stuttering into the cleft of that ass before stilling.

 

\---

 

It hadn’t mattered that Frigga was the most accepting about it, because his father’s condemnation and grandma’s tears were all that was required.

 

Odin’s voice had been hard and callous. Even towards his own younger brother.

 

“I don’t want you near my boys anymore.”

 

Uncle Loki didn’t do anything for a minute other than look down at his empty plate, fixating on it so he didn’t have to look elsewhere or at anyone. His breathing kept very level.

 

“I’ll be moving in with him at the end of the month. You won’t have much reason to see me anyway.”

 

There was an uncharacteristic subtle flush on his cheeks. In some way, even he had been surprised – and humiliated – by their rejection. Thor wanted to say something – to side with his mother, who had visibly paled and was looking very shocked at her husband.

 

But then in that moment, uncle Loki got up and left. He didn’t slam the house’s main door on the way out. More heartbroken than angry to do even that.

 

No one else can bring themselves to say anything until Baldr’s crying breaks the stillness.

 

\---

 

For the first time since he’s been here, it’s finally quiet. That hour when it’s no longer today but not yet tomorrow. The summer night, whether it was hotter than the bedroom, Thor wasn’t sure but he imagined it might be difficult to match. He can’t even hear his own heartbeat though he can feel it. That same feeling of being suspended in the heat, that he had known his entire life, had picked up on.

 

It was still the same here – of no future to be had.

 

He should reach over and turn the lamp light off, but his arms are occupied, and he doesn’t feel like making the effort.

 

He hugs his uncle’s body to his, the two of them sharing a bed like back then. Bodies tensionless from sex. The neighborhood clubs, streets, and lost, wandering souls that frequent them are silent.

 

Within a few minutes, it seems as if the rest of the world ceased to exist as he’d known it. Thor nuzzles his face in his uncle’s hair, trying to reach that private space – to reside between neck and shoulder. He thinks, night after night, by yourself, in a city neighborhood like this, the kind of place where people ended up when they were out of options.

 

The thoughts aren’t new. At this point it’s just a habit. The scenarios that played themselves out in a mental keyhole, watching the drama before a window from across the street, or fixated on the images through a door’s open slant.

 

Events left to the imagination. Others not.

 

He feels himself becoming submerged under the heavy sensation of settled sweat and skin.

 

 _‘Come home.’_ is the last thought he has, before succumbing to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Thor thinks like no teenager ever, but I tried my best.~~
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> Comment if this hurt you? Cause I need to know. I just be like that.


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